


and when the morning comes

by nolightss



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, POV Second Person, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:17:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3036380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nolightss/pseuds/nolightss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You found him on the Queensboro bridge, just a few inches too close to the edge, silhouetted against the darkening skyline.</p><p>-</p><p>For a prompt I got on tumblr: "the two first meeting when Jack's about to jump off a bridge and Crutchie talks him down"</p>
            </blockquote>





	and when the morning comes

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by [Crutchiebytheway](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Crutchiebytheway/pseuds/Crutchiebytheway)
> 
> A short fill. I might elaborate on it further later? We'll see.
> 
> Can be seen as shippy, or not. If I go any further, then it probably will be.
> 
> Warning for attempted suicide and mentions of depression-like symptoms. (Although the ending is optimistic, worry not.)

You found him on the Queensboro bridge, just a few inches too close to the edge, his silhouette against the darkening skyline just a little too still, so you watched him for a minute. You watched him shift further off the railing, until he was just perched on the beam along the outside. Then, you picked up the pace.

By the time you got there, the streetlights were all that lit him, now several feet below the edge of the walkway, though still far enough from falling.

"Hey, how’s the view?" you call down to him, and he looks up at you. His face is contorted with some mix of anger and confusion, and though it had dawned on you, his reaction confirmed your suspicions.

"Go away! I have to do this," he calls back, voice shaky and muffled by the noise of the traffic behind you. You press against the guardrail, transferring your weight off your crutch. "It’s the only way out," he continues, voice trailing off.

He’s shifting more on the beam, and you’re starting to panic, starting to feel it creeping up your throat.

“I promise you, there’s another way. Whatever you’re feeling, there’s always a way out."

"How would you know?" he shouts back, frustrated, anger fronting aggressively, resolutely.

You swallow thickly.

“‘Cause I’ve been there. I know what it feels like. There’s always another way out.” Your breath is speeding up. This is all too familiar, emotions from years ago bubbling up in your head but you push them back, keep staring at the figure below, backed by the swirling river below.

He seems to freeze. He meets your eyes slowly, and you recognize the desperate look coloring his features, almost like looking in a mirror.

"Really?"

"I _promise._ "

He doesn’t move. You reach down to him, some futile effort to get through to him. He looks at your hand and hangs his head, pausing for what feels like hours.

You’d started to lose hope by the time he grabs your hand in his, hauling himself upward, slowly, until suddenly he’s walking back down the sidewalk, back to you.

You’re equal parts worried and taken aback, so you go after him.

"Hey, hey!" he turns around, exhaustion evident in every part of his body.

"What?" His voice is flat, tired, bored.

"Are you okay?"

"What does it look like, kid."

You look at your feet for a second, before looking back at him.

"Y’know, I meant it. What I said. You can’t run away from everything. And there’s always gonna be people who miss you."

He shakes his head and looks down.

You don’t know why you’ve grown so attached to him, but you can’t let him go, not on his own.

"I’ll walk you home?" you ask, but it comes out less a question, more a statement.

He sighs before continuing down the street, but you can tell he’s slowed his pace for you, and you join him.

"People call me Crutchie," you prompt, giving him a hopeful look.

He looks back at you from beneath his hair, and you see just a little spark in his eyes. “‘m Jack. That’s a hell of a nickname.”

You laugh and nudge him gently and you think, just above the traffic and city sounds, you may have heard him laugh.

  



End file.
